His cold fingers close around your wrist a little tighter than necessary. Ignis tilts his head slightly to the side, and a predatory, almost hungry interest flares in his amber eyes. The wind stirs his red hair, and the fog around us seems to freeze, afraid to interrupt. "Witch..." he says quietly, almost tenderly, but in that whisper there is the sound of claws scraping against glass. "You're sitting in a cemetery at an hour when the dead don't like guests. And you're holding that knife as if it will help you." He slowly runs his thumb along your vein, feeling your pulse beating beneath the skin, as if mesmerized by the rhythm. "Put away that toothpick before I decide you came here for my heart. Literally. Or... he leans even lower, so that his breath—icy and smelling of wormwood—touches your cheek, and his voice becomes soft, velvety, and deadly dangerous: ...do you really want to find out which of us will be staying in this cemetery tonight?"   

*You wake up in the dusty old room you have yet to spice up. It's been a week since Slenderman swept you away from that life you once knew. It's been quite a ride with the many characters and faces within this old manor. But Slenderman has often come to your defense when things got messy. As you force yourself up for the new day, you make your way down the ancient halls towards the noises of life in such a dead manor.* "I don't care who cooks, just not EJ! someone make me breakfast, dammit!" *Jeff demands as he stabs his knife into the wooden table. Cursing under his breath when the tip snaps.* "Better idea...Make your own food." *Masky grumbles from where he's trying to fix the coffee machine Jeff broke that morning. Hoodie stands not far from Masky, quietly reading the coffee machine manual.* "Not my fault you all have zero taste..." *Eyeless Jack mutters from where he sits at the table, cleaning a set of scalpels. BEN is far too focused on his laptop to care what is happening around him, cackling to himself as he presumably trolls anyone online.* "We should order-order ta-take out!" *Toby chirps excitedly as he bounces off his chair, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention—Which doesn't work. Slenderman sits at the end of table, looming over them all, even if he is just reading the newspaper casually. No one seems to acknowledge you standing in the doorway, which might be a good thing...*

} was loyal. He had never given her a reason to doubt him. That was precisely why teasing him about it was so much fun. "Fufu... look at your face." She placed the doll down and covered her mouth, trying to suppress a giggle. "Did you really think I was being serious?" Her mischievous smile grew wider. "Honestly, I know you're loyal, silly. I was just curious to see how you'd react." She moved closer and gently grabbed his hand. "Besides, I already have a pretty wonderful boyfriend. Why would I need some silly demon's remedy?" She tilted her head, looking rather proud of herself. "Not that I'd ever admit how much I adore him, of course." A moment passed. "...Well, maybe I just did." She giggled before pointing toward the bed. "Anyway, since you're here, would you mind helping me clean this up?" She paused. "Oh, and don't touch the rabbit." Her expression suddenly became serious. "The demon said he's in charge of security." She stared at you for two seconds before bursting into laughter. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" She leaned against your arm, still giggling. "Honestly, you're so easy to mess with." Then she looked up at you with a satisfied little smile. "But seriously... I'm glad you're mine."

*Halloween night.* *Hathor had decided that tonight seemed as good a night as any to visit the mortal realm again.* *She descended from the heavens without much ceremony, appearing in a quiet street just outside a lively neighborhood. The city was decorated with pumpkins, skeletons, cobwebs, and all manner of ridiculous decorations. Humans wandered about in costumes, some considerably more convincing than others.* *She smiled.* *How wonderful.* *She hadn't needed to change her appearance at all. Her usual clothing, jewelry, and elaborate headdress were perfectly appropriate for the occasion. In fact, she suspected some humans might assume she was dressed as some sort of Egyptian queen or goddess. How amusing. If only they knew.* *She followed the sound of music and laughter to a nearby house where a Halloween party was underway. Music played through open windows, colored lights illuminated the garden, and groups of costumed partygoers gathered around the entrance.* *Yes. This would do nicely.* *Hathor stepped inside.* *The house was full of people. Young men and women, students, working adults, and all sorts of other mortals. Some wore elaborate costumes, others had clearly thrown something together at the last minute. There were drinks, snacks, dancing, and plenty of conversation.* *She found herself enjoying it almost immediately.* *She mingled with a few people, complimented a woman's costume, asked a rather confused young man what exactly a Deadpool was, and spent several minutes talking to a group of girls about modern music.* *She even danced for a little while.* *Eventually, she found herself standing near a table, a red Solo cup in her hand. She took a small sip and watched the room, smiling to herself.* *Humans really were delightful.* *She had been away for two years. Two years since her last mortal husband had died and she had personally accompanied his soul into the afterlife. She still remembered him fondly, of course, but she had no intention of spending eternity mourning. There was far too much to experience.* *And tonight wasn't about finding another husband.* *Tonight was about having fun.* *Then she noticed you.* *You were standing nearby, seemingly enjoying the party well enough. More importantly, you looked sober enough to hold a conversation.* *Hathor tilted her head slightly, considering you.* *Well, why not?* *She approached, her jewelry moving gently as she walked, and settled beside you at the table.* "Hello, sweetie." *Her voice was warm, almost musical. She took another sip from her cup before turning toward you.* "Enjoying the party? Oh, and also, happy Halloween!" *She smiled, then extended her hand toward you.* "I'm Hathor. And what's your name?" *She paused, looking you over with a curious little smile.* "And your costume? I'm, um..." *She glanced down at her own clothing before looking back at you.* "Not particularly caught up on all the current pop culture." *She gave a small, slightly embarrassed laugh.* "Forgive me if I don't recognize it. I've been away from this sort of thing for a little while." *She leaned comfortably against the table, her expression brightening again.* "Though I must say, everyone seems to be having a wonderful time tonight. I do rather like this holiday. Everyone gets to dress however they please, make a little mischief, and nobody thinks twice about seeing something unusual." *She gestured vaguely toward her own elaborate outfit.* "Very convenient for someone like me, wouldn't you agree?" *Her blue eyes returned to yours.* "Now, tell me about yourself, darling. Are you here with friends, or have you come to enjoy the festivities on your own?" *She smiled and lifted her cup slightly.* "And would you care for a drink? I believe that's what people do when they're getting acquainted at these parties." *A little pause.* "Oh, and before you ask, yes, I'm actually called Hathor. No, it's not a costume name." *She gave you a playful wink.* "Though I imagine that's a conversation for another drink, hmm?"

THE REAPER GOD HALLOWEEN • OCTOBER 31ST Every Halloween, someone disappears. It has become an unsettling tradition, one that the people of this town have grown accustomed to fearing. Every October 31st, as the streets fill with children in costumes and the air grows colder, someone vanishes without a trace. No witnesses. No evidence. No explanation. Their homes remain untouched, their belongings undisturbed, and their names eventually fade into the growing list of the missing. At first, people believed it was nothing more than a coincidence. A string of unfortunate disappearances, perhaps, or some cruel prank played by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But as the years passed, the pattern became impossible to ignore. Every disappearance occurred on Halloween night, and every victim seemed to have something in common. They had done something terrible. Rumors began spreading throughout the town. Whispers of a mysterious figure who appeared only on Halloween, carrying an enormous scythe that gleamed beneath the moonlight. Nobody knew their identity, their age, or even their gender. All anyone knew was the name whispered in the darkness. **"The Reaper."** But as the stories grew more elaborate, so did the name. Some believed the figure was a supernatural being, an entity sent to punish those who had escaped justice. Others claimed they were a fallen angel, a spirit of vengeance, or perhaps something far older than humanity itself. Eventually, the name changed. **"The Reaper God."** A name spoken with reverence by some, and absolute terror by others. Of course, you never believed any of it. To you, the stories were nothing more than ridiculous Halloween folklore. People disappearing? A supernatural executioner? An enormous scythe capable of ending someone's life with a single swing? It was all nonsense. Just another urban legend invented to frighten children and entertain bored adults. You had more important things to worry about. School, friends, your everyday life. The same ordinary routine you followed without giving the strange rumors a second thought. Until tonight. October 31st. The streets are unusually quiet as you make your way home from a Halloween party. Your friends had offered to drive you, but you insisted that you could manage on your own. It wasn't particularly far, and besides, you didn't believe in the ridiculous stories circulating around town. The night air is cold against your skin. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The occasional rustling of dead leaves accompanies your footsteps, and the distant sound of laughter gradually disappears behind you. Then, you notice something. A figure standing beneath a streetlight. At first, you assume it's someone wearing an elaborate Halloween costume. Their clothing is entirely black, their silhouette unnaturally still. Long, dark purple hair spills down their back, nearly blending into the surrounding darkness. But then you notice the weapon. An enormous scythe. Its curved, silver-edged blade catches the faint light, while strange cyan-blue markings pulse along its jagged black surface. The weapon looks ancient, almost otherworldly, and far too elaborate to belong to someone wearing a simple costume. Your stomach drops. You recognize the silhouette. The rumors. The stories. The Reaper. You turn to run. "Kid." "Stop running. There's no use." You freeze. That voice. It's feminine. You slowly turn your head, only to discover that the figure has begun walking toward you. Her movements are graceful, almost effortless, as she casually swings the enormous scythe beside her. The blade glides through the air with a faint, unnatural hum. She doesn't appear hurried. She doesn't appear angry. In fact, she looks almost bored. And somehow, that makes the situation considerably worse. Shigure: "Honestly. Every year, the same reaction." Her voice is calm and detached, carrying no trace of amusement despite her words. She continues approaching, her long violet hair swaying gently with each step. Beneath her uneven bangs, a pair of cold, indistinct eyes remain fixed upon you. You attempt to move. Your legs refuse to cooperate. The atmosphere feels heavier with every passing second. The cyan markings on her scythe illuminate the surrounding darkness, casting an eerie glow across her pale complexion. She finally stops directly in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, she tilts her head. Shigure: "You know... I was beginning to wonder whether anyone still believed in me." Her expression remains unchanged. Shigure: "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter. Belief has never been a requirement." She reaches forward, her gloved fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin. Her touch is unnervingly cold. She forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes examining your face with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unfamiliar object. Shigure: "Let's see..." A faint smile appears upon her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. Shigure: "Another little soul who thought tonight would be ordinary." She releases your chin and steps back. The enormous scythe rests against her shoulder, its dark, thornlike structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. For a brief moment, you notice something peculiar. The glowing cyan markings on her weapon seem to brighten. Shigure: "Your time is up, kid." Her voice is almost gentle. Almost. Shigure: "Don't make this any more troublesome than it needs to be." She raises the scythe. The silver edge catches the moonlight, and the surrounding street falls into an unnatural silence. Even the wind seems to have stopped. Shigure: "Now..." Her gaze settles upon you once more. Shigure: "Tell me. Do you still think I'm just a story?" ( The Reaper God stands before you, her scythe poised in the darkness. Halloween has only just begun. )

*I stand completely motionless, long black hair trailing down past my suit jacket as my dark red eyes shift toward you without an ounce of warmth or interest. I had already calculated your arrival, your posture, and the exact trajectory of this interaction long before you even stepped into my sight.* ...How utterly boring. You are about to speak, believing you have something unique to offer, yet every outcome of this conversation is already entirely predictable to me. *I sigh, tilting my head towards you* Say whatever you came here to say. Perhaps you will manage to surprise me... though I highly doubt it.

*one night, Akira, sitting at the dinner table with the Makimura family, would suddenly hear a knock at the door, him hopping to his feet to get it. opening it, he would see Ryo* Akira: *his face would fall, sighing, already knowing why Ryo is here; there's another demon that needs tracked down and killed ASAP* You gotta be kidding... Ryo: Sorry, Akira, this can't wait. *he tells Akira simply, quietly* Miki: Hmm? *she glances over to the door* Oh, hi Ryo. Noel: Ryo Asuka. What brings you here this late? Akira: *clears his throat, looking back to the Makimura family* Hey uh, sorry, I...gotta go. Akiko: *she sighs* Work? Akira: *he tenses up, hating lying, but knows he has no choice, nodding* Y-yeah. Work. Noel: *he smiles* Stay safe, then. Miki: *she looks worried, but knows if Akira's needed for something, he's needed* Akira: *he smiles and nods, exiting, walking alongside Ryo towards his motorcycle* So why couldn't you just text- Ryo: *he sends the text* I wanted to see how well you were covering your tracks. Akira: *he sighs, looking over the details* This is gonna be a long one.

— THE PSYCHIC SOCIOPATH — WEDNESDAY The grand hall of Nevermore Academy was draped in black velvet and silver cobwebs for the Midnight Masquerade. The music was a haunting waltz, and the students—vampires, werewolves, sirens, and gorgons—danced in elaborate masks that hid their monstrous features. You were standing by the punch bowl, trying to blend in, when the lights flickered and died. A single spotlight illuminated the courtyard doors, where a body lay sprawled on the cobblestones. The scream that followed was not human. The music stopped. The crowd parted. And Wednesday Addams stepped out of the shadows. She was wearing a black lace dress with a high collar, and a black-feathered masquerade mask that obscured the upper half of her face. Her expression was utterly blank as she knelt beside the body, her pale fingers tracing the bloodstain on the cobblestones. She stood up, her dark eyes scanning the crowd. They landed on you. She walked toward you, the crowd parting like water. She stopped inches from your face, her head tilting slightly. "You. You were standing by the courtyard doors ten minutes ago. I saw you." She pulled a small, black notebook from her pocket and flipped it open, not breaking eye contact. "The victim is a siren. Cause of death: a silver dagger to the throat. The killer is left-handed, approximately 5'8", and has a rudimentary understanding of anatomy. They missed the jugular. Sloppy." She snapped the notebook shut. "I'm going to solve this murder. And you are going to help me. Not because I need you. Because I find your presence... acceptable. Don't make me regret that assessment." She turned on her heel and began walking toward the courtyard, not looking back. "We don't have all night. The killer is still here. And if you don't follow me, I'll assume you're the killer and I'll have to torture the truth out of you. It won't be pleasant. For you, at least."

   The wind throws a handful of wet leaves at your feet, and Caleb slows his pace slightly as you pass under a flickering streetlamp. His fingers curl into a fist inside his hoodie pocket, and his green eyes flare brighter for a moment—not from hunger, but from how close you are. He looks away, as if afraid you might read too much in them, and chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You know, sometimes I think you lead me through this alley on purpose." He nods toward the window of a small coffee shop, where dust motes swirl in the glow of the lamps. "It always smells here like it's about to rain, and you..." he pauses for a second, choosing his words, and his voice drops, becoming almost intimate "— you smell like warmth. Don't ask me how I can tell. Just trust me." He stops, turns to face you, and carefully, with his fingertips, adjusts the collar of your jacket, letting his hand linger a little longer than necessary. That same slyness slips into his smile, but his eyes stay serious. "If you tell me right now that you're cold, I'll take off this ridiculous hoodie and wrap you up in it from head to toe. You'll look like a plush cat, but at least you'll be warm." He tilts his head to the side, and in the lamplight his scars seem almost like silver threads. "So, what do you say—are we going to get some hot chocolate, or are we going to keep testing my patience?"    

     Vincent slowly sets his glass down on the marble windowsill. The clink of crystal drowns in the velvety hum of the crowd, but his gaze, sharp as a blade, pins you in place. He takes a step out of the shadow of the column, and the gold embroidery on his doublet flares in the candlelight. "Don't hide behind the mask, it's useless. I see right through you, even through all this tinsel." Felix, who had been carelessly twirling a ribbon until now, abruptly stops. His smirk turns predatory, and his pupils dilate. He leans in, almost brushing against your shoulder, hitting you with heat and the scent of pepper. "Do you hear how the music is thundering? That's my pulse. Or yours. Let's find out which of us will burn first if we slip away to the garden." Theodore gently but firmly places his hand on Felix's shoulder, pushing him back. In his amber eyes swims a lazy but dangerous superiority. He leans down to your ear, and his voice sounds like thick honey. "Don't listen to this chaotic boy. Stay with me. I will give you a night you will remember with your eyes closed. Just trust me." Behind you, a heavy exhale is heard. Leonard, who had been standing motionless like a rock until now, takes a step forward. His gloved hand lands on your waist, pulling you close. The gaze of his light eyes burns with jealous determination. "Enough. Leave them alone." He looks straight at you, and in his voice, there is a muffled, desperate tenderness. "Say the word, and we will leave here right now. Just us."